That Strange Familiar Feeling

Every person has needs.

I have needs. You know those kinds of needs.

When you think about it carefully, much of what happens within the fetish community revolves around a group of likeminded yet twisted individuals, each of them looking to get their rocks off.

Though if that hasn’t already been established, the people involved with BDSM, despite the activities they partake in, are still very much human; perhaps, too human, because underneath a tough demeanor or docile subservient attitude, lies a bevy of thoughts, experience and emotions.

The most distinctive, most potent and most destructive of these emotions is love.

It sounds terribly cliche, yes, but one can argue that even the most detached of individuals will, on a long enough basis, form some type of connection to the people around them – be that physical or romantic attractions, platonic or purely sexual relationships. If one were to simply break down the various notions of sexual interaction, let alone BDSM, by the end of the day these activities are purely chemical responses from within the brain.

However, the reality is that before these activities form and take place, two people – both strangers – would have had at some point or another bonded together, starting often as friends then lovers and so on and so forth. In the time period that relationships form and last, most people will be hesitant to confess that a great multitude of silly behavior and emotions arise; feelings of jealousy, often followed by spiteful thoughts, detachment and then fighting – these are all the byproduct of a chain of events, actions and reactions all caused by love.

These experiences may make a person extremely wary of engaging in future relationships; perhaps aware of the changes that occur during the course of a romance, perhaps afraid of what may become with the next relationship after that. These fears are natural, there is nothing wrong with them, and like any sane person alive they formulate purely out of response and self-awareness. Commitment, even in a polyamorous relationship, can both be enriching and stressful; most of the time, it is a lot easier to keep everyone at a distance, lest the cycle repeats itself again.

I admit, perhaps the most clever solution would be simply to end a relationship, whenever the sexual attraction has worn off; past experience has shown, much may be preserved in the wake of such conclusions. A friend, better than that of a jaded ex, is a far better position than anything.

But people have needs, physical and emotional needs, and even the most bitter of hearts can be turned halfway towards the notion of falling in love.
Well, most of the time people just want to get their rocks off (you horny kinky perverts you), but still like a certain song said:

All you need is love.


“Hey Yellow!” I turned to glance over at the corner, nearby the area for storing luggage, where a series of chairs and tables had been set out. I stared at a pair of gentlemen, one of whom had previously and noncessantly pestered me about writing about him. Guess you never bothered to listen when I said I only write about assholes, didn’t you? (Yeti is an exception)


“Who did you play with just now?” He asked, staring at me.

I raised a brow. I replied, simply,  what does it matter?

The gentleman shrugged. “Its a public play space. I would’ve have seen it.”

<Name redacted due to blog rules and confidentiality>

“Oh,” He said. “What did you guys do?”

Why does it matter? I repeated. You guys have an arrangement or something?

“No, I’m just curious.” He replied.

There’s a thing called privacy. Are you both together?

His friend beside him chuckled, nodding in agreement. “No, we were once though.”

I began to grow a bit cross, adding, why the fuck does it matter?

“We slept together.” He added.

She’s a brat. Most of the people are brats.

“Oh, I know she’s a brat.” He said, grinning. “We had sex.”

Not to me she wasn’t, I turned around and left, briefly hearing his friend’s guffaw.
For a moment, it wasn’t the conversation that bothered me. It was how, perhaps more than once, I’d behaved the way he did to my former partners; curious, insecure, jealous – fickle unattractive emotions, the kind that every person, at some point, have experienced within the scene. In some ways, havng left Vancouver behind, I understood that line of questioning.


A broken heart is a terrible thing.

It gives reason to do even more terrible things such as excess drinking, smoking, substance abuse and generally making a grand mess of things; sometimes people go as far as to mourn for ages only because they cared once, sometimes they do stupid harmful things to themselves.

When the weeks of moping goes by, a personal remedy comes in the form of chainsmoking, cold showers and jazz music. Not that Vancouver is known for its sunny weather during the latter parts of the year, because if anything it always seems to rain ominously for days on end, whenever it is that I’m suffering from a broken heart.

The mind wanders then. What if I did something different? What if I could change some small detail? What if I never said that to her? What if I could take something back? Oh, woe is me, life’s but a soundless stage for the lament of a broken heart; be kind enough to give me amnesia, I feel like a fool. The shame, the regret, the anger, and the terrible cycle of trying to keep your thoughts away on whatever it is the ex is up to.

Sometimes, there’s always that awkward random moment, especially within the scene where you see them with someone else. The fetish crowd is notoriously small and close knit. At first the sight is loathesome, due to the flood of emotions, and promptly the suspicion that they’re going after your friends; it drives you up the wall, thinking that its all lost to you, and promptly you storm out of there.

Maybe you argue. Hell, I know I’ve argued more than once, selfishly even, trying to convey my emotions until the two of us are virtually throwing up any and every kind of excuse at one another. Maybe you wind up talking, but the cause for that is resolution, there’s still that tinge of attraction that stays; there’s this strange chance, that awful chance, that it might still work out.

So maybe you wind up trying again. Things seem to work out. However, there’s something different, you begin to feel the same fears that occurred towards the end; that insecurity, that awful doubt, that it’ll repeat itself. Here we go again, the fighting and arguing and bickerng, maybe at times a quiet and dreadful “I think we need to talk” moment. There’s a pattern to it all, you think, but maybe that’s the cynicism talking – forget that, I’ll be careful this time.

Face it. We never really are.


Spectacular Conversations with the many Ex-Partners/Flings/Occasional Boy/Transgendered Gal-Pals

You win a prize if you’ve ever had these conversations yourself.

I’m sorry.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget you.
Wait. Don’t go.
It was a mistake. It was my fault.

Damn right its your fault. What were you thinking?
Why aren’t you answering my calls?

I’m tired of love.
I just want to be alone, do my own thing, you know?
I mean, I need to focus on myself, not someone else.
Just shut up and give me another drink, I’m moping.
Well, look at that hot piece of ass, you think she’s kinky?
Damn right, man, let me go and talk to her.

I’m pretty good.
Listen, um, are you looking to do a scene tonight?
RIght, let’s get away somewhere and negotiate.
No, I’m not with anyone.
What do you mean I’m hiding something?
Uh, no, thats just you.
I’m not bothered by anything.
No, really.

I wonder if she has some kind of venereal disease.
I wonder if she’s here at the party.
I wonder if she’s with someone else.
I wonder if she even cares.

Yeah, I played with him.
No, I’m not fucking queer. I’m heteroflexible.
Uh, big difference. I don’t sleep with guys.
Alright, fine, maybe I’ve thought about it once or twice.
Okay, I admit, we kissed. No big deal.
So what if he’s a boy? Look at him. He’s got that cute black hair going and that soft voice.
Yeah, he’s such a total femme slut. He even talks like one too.
I don’t even know what I was thinking.

Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, uh, I don’t think this is working out.
Look, I’m sorry, but you really aren’t my type. We don’t match. I’ll still be your friend.
Okay. This isn’t easy. I don’t think this is doing anything for me. Sorry.
How should I put this? Uh, I think we’ve become different people.
I’m sorry. It isn’t about you. Its about me. I can’t handle this.

I wonder if he actually loved me.
I wonder why he never called back.
I wonder if he’s lying to me.
I wonder why he did those things he did.
I wonder why he said that.

How’s, uh, life?
Right. Are you going to that event?

Are you kidding? I can’t believe she gave up on me.
Are you kidding? Dude, she had the sweetest kiss/ass/boobs/curves/blush ever.
Are you kidding? Oh God, that’s disgusting – you ate that week old burrito?
I’m going to be balls deep in that before the end of tonight.

No. We never got anywhere.
Yeah, she was with someone.
Tough luck.
Anyways, I’m going back to my gaming, later.

I feel like I wanna die.
I know I said that before. I’m serious.
What did I do to deserve this?
I’ll never get over this relationship.


Your prize will be waiting for you outside the door.
Better hurry. Prizes given until stocks last.

There isn’t enough for everyone.


Would you like to know something funny?

Those conversations above weren’t about anyone in particular.
Those  conversations above, believe it or not, weren’t even mine.

We’ve had them before.
I’ve had them before.

We all have.
All of us.



Please don’t ever leave me.


People like to brag. Shit, I like to brag, maybe its a way of establishing hierachy within the pack; maybe its the insecurity, maybe its to prove a damn point – the truth is, were I to recount all the names of the people that I’ve ever been or played with, I simply can.

Do you know why we must never do such a thing?

Nobody likes being thrown together in a mass, nobody likes being generalized ever; for a heart to love, it must feel unique, and that each and every conversation be cherished and protected. That single gift, that tidal wave of emotions, must be valued. That for all the times one may speak about how things were different to a new partner, deep within that fosters a feeling of inadequacy, accomplishes only in some tragic form of self-loathing.

Were a person to say for a woman to eat more or less, to lose or gain weight, but rather simply be themselves then I imagine there would be far fewer cases of anxiety, peer pressure and self-hatred. Words can be powerful and dangerous. To simply comment on a person’s appearance is shameful – that, in many ways, translates to: Destroy yourself.

Sensuality, as mentioned before, is a language of passion. It exists simply by appreciation and gratitude, for even the most hardened of sorts may feel it; because love itself is paramount, crucial, and it is a wonderful and an old familiar feeling.

The scary thing is I’ve never played with so many individuals before in my life, during the entirety of my journey, all across North America. I had always thought that I would only be able to pull that off with people I knew very well, people that I’ve allowed myself to trust.

Instead the worst fear is that I’ll make them feel so superficial. I’m afraid that I’ll make them feel like I was just some random dude that they played with, that I’ll forget them, and I don’t want to. The worst fear is that they won’t believe me. They’ll think instead that they made some silly reckless move to play with some wandering vagrant that just sees them as a piece of ass.

I ought to write down all the names but that would be perfect blackmail, so no.

I’m not afraid that they’ll forget me.
I’m afraid that I’ll forget them.
I can barely remember their pseudonyms.
I still remember their faces.

And no, it isn’t that I’m too busy playing with everyone to message them, let alone sleeping with everyone I meet – the truth is, aside from being a lazy bastard, the road is always calling.

But I miss you.
All of you.


I really like you.

Unfortunately I have places to be but you’re smart, so you knew that.
Haha, Casa Nova had venereal disease. I don’t.

No, I didn’t really think about that, but now that I think about it thats actually kind of brilliant. I mean, who doesn’t want to play with a plethora of people all across the country?

No, no, don’t put words in my mouth. You know I give a shit, right?

Well, honestly, you’re not the first person I mentioned this to.  Wait, hold on now, that doesn’t mean I say it to everyone. I mean, I do, but the point is:

You’re not anyone.
You’re you.
You’re unique in your own little way and that’s why I like you.
You’re not some random girl/guy I met alone the way.
You’re someone who has allowed me to play with you.
So what I want to say is thank you.
I mean that. You and everyone. Thank you for having me here.

You know, a long time ago, I’ve always had this romantic image – because I’m a Cancer and therefore sentimental – that I’ve always wanted to be some enigmatic womanizer, some masked man stealing hearts in the dead of night.

That’s a fantasy, you know that, right?

I don’t want to be that as much as it makes my life easier.

The truth is I fall for everyone I meet.
That makes me a dangerous enigmatic womanizer.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll be forgetting you any time soon.

Please take care of yourself. I’ll be back to show you a trick or two.
I promise.
A gentleman never breaks a promise.
Now behave or don’t.
Make it interesting.



For love, past and present, not like that for friends, this flag will fly.

Stat Vexillum
“The Flag Still Stands”

This entry was posted in Journal, Personal Thoughts/Insight and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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